


See Right Through Me

by Roarsthedandelion



Series: See Right Through Me [1]
Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kym and Will are low-key their own coffeeshop AU, Lauren's ridiculous dates are a plot point, Mutual Pining, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roarsthedandelion/pseuds/Roarsthedandelion
Summary: Some people say that we are just our circumstances, and given someone else's place, we'd do what they've done. But then we feel the pull of who we've been before-- to the things we've loved, the oaths we've broken, the people we can't forget.Her eyes are too familiar. His voice is too clear in her mind. They can't help but remember.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Series: See Right Through Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973428
Comments: 22
Kudos: 58





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sup y'all! This prologue is super short, but the chapters themselves are going to be longer, so don't worry about that. 
> 
> This is still a WIP, but I've got enough down so far I'm going to try for weekly updates. Maybe Wednesdays?
> 
> Anyway, please let me know what you think!

It goes something like this:

A man with a voice like his sword and a woman with burning, golden eyes are running across the rooftops as the moon shines between the clouds. Whether they are running from or to, it isn’t clear. It doesn’t matter, really. They’re together, they’re outpacing Death, and the adrenaline thrumming in their veins is proof they are invincible. 

Until they aren’t. 

The rest is left in fragments-- shouts, screams--

“You thought you could betray me."

a hand at her throat, a searing kiss, a fall, so much blood (too much blood), all-consuming dark. And between it, flowers. Hyacinths, daisies. Budding, blooming, wilted, bloodied…. burnt. 

“I really didn’t expect it to end this way, Kieran.”

Footsteps. Clanging metal. Skin on skin.

“You have to believe me.”

And so far away from these events, they wake, in equal measures loneliness and fear, unknowing that someone else looks up at the same moon, with the same longing, sharing this completely.


	2. Chapter One: The Last Dead End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is a little more truthful than they realize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so for readability's sake, everyone's names are the same in both their past life (based off canon) and their present life and they generally have the same physical appearance. The time span between incarnations is meant to be ~100 years, so there's going to be much more modern technology, etc., mentioned. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!!

The threat of rain loomed heavy on the streets of Greychapel, echoing Kieran’s tumultuous thoughts. His appointment was in the last row house before the alley--the brick of it older, greyer than the brownstones of nicer districts. Maybe that honest brokenness was what made it feel so welcoming. 

The sign by the gate creaked a little with the wind, which was usual, so he took the steps with his usual jaunt and knocked in a way that belied his nervousness. His hands were shaking; he shoved them in his pockets.

“My child, what brings you to me?” 

“‘I’m hoping you can answer that for me, Madame Alice.”

Madame Alice, proprietor of Greychapel’s Spirits and Seances, didn’t bother attempting to look the part. Instead of being buried beneath layers of mismatched, patterned shawls or peering out from eye makeup that insinuated itself as more of a portend than the seer could be paid to provide, the lady looked more like Kieran’s grandmother, voice low like when she got in her moods and started whispering stories of the Old Country and its Little People. 

She held the door open a little further and beckoned him in with a bony hand. Kieran squeezed through more in deference than in lack of space, and noted that the wallpaper was old and worn but a homier choice than he’d expected. He smiled to himself and squeezed the bag in his pocket, trying to ease the knot in his stomach. 

“Follow me,” she directed, “it’s back this way.”

The parlor was a little more what he expected, with two well-worn plush chairs across from each other at a table covered in a jewel-toned cloth. The tarot deck had gold foil on the back of the cards, and its edges were worn but only enough to lose its newness. Kieran squeezed the bag in his pocket tighter. 

She gestured for him to sit in the one with his back to the door, which he consequently tilted at an angle. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she creaked her way into her own chair. 

“I’m going to have to ask you again, young man. Why have you come?”

“I’ve heard you’re the best, and I’m tired of running into dead ends. I want to know what you see.”

She humphed. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Can’t find a tree in a forest if I don’t know what forest.”

“Nightmares,” he said finally. “I’ve had the same nightmare for a long time, and I want to know what it means.”

Madame Alice smiled. “Let’s take a look, then. Hands, please.”

He did as he was told, and as soon as he placed his palms to hers, she gasped. “You’re not really asking me what they mean, are you? You’re asking me why you see her.”

It wasn’t a question. Not really. “Yes.”

“I can see why. She’s beautiful. What pretty, pensive eyes.”

He hummed. If his impressions were any indication, she’d hate being told that, even if her dour expressions often made it true. “What else do you see?”

“It’s like your soul has unfinished business with her. Something the two of you were tangled up in.” Madam Alice’s smile thinned. “I should warn you. People are mostly their circumstances. If you find her, which is not a guarantee, it’s unlikely she’ll be as you remember her.”

His hands balled in hers until they nearly pulled away, but he didn’t dare. “Can you help me find her or not?”

“ I keep hearing L- Lo…. That’s all I can make out. It gets cut off. She still likes flowers. Like the last time you knew each other.” She dropped his hands on to the table and looked away, but her lips pursed. Whatever it was she wasn’t saying, it was better not to ask. Not yet. 

“Thank you for your time, Madame Alice. I’ll show myself out.”

“She’s not the balm for that wound, young man. Don’t go in with false hope.”

Kieran stepped out of the row house and into the rain one bag of gold lighter, and that would have to be enough. 

* * *

Across town, Lauren used an already laden arm to push the doors to 11th Hour coffee making the bell above the door jingle happily despite the rain, her papers jostling as she did. Despite her best efforts, some of the dreary wet from outside came in off her umbrella and began pooling on the floor. 

“Good morning!” she called.

“Don’t ‘good morning’ me, Sinclair! Details, woman, details!” Kym was on her toes, leaning over the pastry case that was much too tall to allow it. Maybe the only reason Will hadn’t had an aneurysm about it yet was because the side behind the counter was made to look like brass. Somehow he was always the one to polish the fingerprints off the glass, and he never let anyone forget it.

“Your usual?” Will asked from the register.

“Yes, please and thank you.” Lauren turned to Kym. “At least one of you loves me.”

Kym rolls her eyes hard enough to sprain them, but that isn’t enough to deter her line of questioning. “You’re getting distracted! How. Was. Your. Date?”

“Oh it was good,” she replied. “So good that I can’t stop thinking about anything else.”

“Really?” they asked. Normally, Will could tell Lauren was being sarcastic, but she sounded eerily chipper. 

“No. I think if my parents weren’t insisting I would’ve already resigned myself to a life, happy and alone but for my cat and my books… and my coffee. Thanks, Will.”

“Willame! Stop getting in the way of my morning gossip!” She swatted at him aimlessly while he handed Lauren her refilled travel mug (World’s Okayest Coworker, a gift when she quit 11th Hour for a job at the Mayor’s office) and satisfied at his scrunched up face, she turned back to Lauren. “So what really happened?”

Lauren sighed. “Same as usual. Thought he could get away with lying to me the whole night. I pretended not to notice, and then he pretended not to notice that I grabbed all the breadsticks and left.”

“You liar, you don’t even bother to carry a bag for your binders, much less your breadsticks.” She gestured to the stack of folders and binders Lauren carried under one arm. “Oh!” Kym’s grin grew sharp. “He said you have ‘pretty, pensive eyes’, didn’t he?”

“No! That’s not--no-”

Kym laughed. “For someone who can root for liars like a truffle pig--” Will and Lauren shared a look and mouthed ‘truffle pig?’ then shrugged “--you couldn’t tell a lie to save your life!”

“I came here for coffee, not your judgement.” 

Lauren feigned a step back, towards the door, and Will piped up. “You’re not leaving without at least some food this time. Your uncle told me you’ve been skipping lunches again. Besides,” he grinned, “we all know he’s quoting that dating ad from last April Fool’s.”

“Will!” Lauren hissed. “You promised never to speak of that again!” Now Kym would never let her hear the end of it.

“When was that exactly?” he joked as he dodged swats from both his friends. Another jingle by the door startled them back into some semblance of what Uncle Tristan referred to simply as ‘decorum’-- Will taking his place at the register and Kym and Lauren shuffling quietly to the side. 

“Why don’t you tell your parents if you hate this so much?” Kym whispered, keeping one ear towards the other exchange to see if she’d be needed. It was always quiet this time of day, but many hands still make light work. 

“They know…” The truth was there for her to say, but Lauren kept it on her tongue. “They just want what’s best for me.”

They know I’m obsessed with a man I’ve never met, she thought, gaze hard but aimed at nothing. They’re trying to help me, even if it amounts to nothing. And I’m trying, I’m trying to let him go.

* * *

Davenport & Co. Florists was nestled in between two restaurants off the main street that overlooked the river, and it always smelled like flowers, cooking grease, and (especially when the river was particularly high) fish. Everyone who worked there became a little noseblind to it all, much to the consternation of their customers. But for Kieran, this was purely a part-time gig, so their opinions about it meant jack shit. 

He’d barely made it through the door when the wind blew it closed with a slam. “Kieran, is that you?” Bella called, leaning through the doorway from the back room. “Can I have you do inventory today? I know we need more of the half-inch tape, but I don’t know what else.”

“Crumbs!” He could hear her stifle a snort. The word had become an in-joke since Mrs. Davenport had forbidden them from cursing in front of customers when they started here as teenagers. There was a whole summer when they’d gone through every ice cream flavor and then some, but crumbs was the word that ultimately stuck. “I thought this would be a quiet afternoon!”

“Yeah well, tough break. I have to hurry over to the botanical garden before somebody decides they’re dumb enough to handle my babies.” 

Kieran could only wonder what particular breed of deadly this “baby” was. Knowing Bella, it had probably crawled out of the ground onto finger-shaped roots and terrorized children that got lost in the woods or something. “I’m pretty sure your definition of cuddly is a little off, Bella.”

She came out of the back and squeezed past him with her satchel, trying to pull a hat over the mess that used to be a bun. Sometimes, she was in the nightmares, and when she was she was always dressed like the world was a runway. It helped him remember what was dreams and what wasn’t when he’d see her fingernails stained by chlorophyll and mud, overalls baggy and shirtsleeves rolled up past her elbows. But she certainly had a way with words in either place.

“Kieran, you wouldn’t know cuddly if it was eating your liver.”

He rolled his eyes and clambered back behind the counter, setting down his umbrella to dry and the paper bag he’d been carrying on top of the butcher block. “Want one before you go?”

She sniffed. “Bear claw?”

“From that bakery in Greychapel. It was on my way.”

Her forehead bunched up like she did when she was looking at a plant that couldn’t maim people. “What were you doing in Greychapel-- you didn’t, Kieran!”

He looked away to the window display, which was so much more colorful for the grey outside. “Didn’t you say the undergrads were going to die horrible deaths?”

“They’re undergrads. Of course they’re going to die horrible deaths. It’s just a given at this point.” She snagged the pastry out of the bag and --realizing that she didn’t have enough hands for the pastry, her umbrella, and the door-- she stuck as much of it in her mouth as she dared and talked around it. “Thanks! Don’t think we’re done talking about this!”

And with that, he was alone again with his thoughts. 

Had he not been so distracted this morning, he probably would have brought a notepad to the appointment that morning, but instead he had to settle for replaying the whole thing in excruciating detail so as not to forget. As he’d learned so far, any insignificant thing could be crucial. 

He pulled a piece of brown paper from the roll and started at it with a pencil from beside the registers. It wasn’t as nice as his pencils, line of the lead less smooth, but it would do. And by the time the door opened hours later and a belligerent fool rolled in, money even in his sweat, Kieran had found himself idly sketching her. 

The man didn’t bother acknowledging Kieran as he entered, immediately turning to browse the buckets of long-stemmed roses. These customers were the worst. They’d buy up all the stock in the most expensive but generic thing, and then they’d run through all the local stores until they got bored of their paramour and started over on someone new. And contrary to spending practices, they were never good for business. 

He had half made up his mind to try to cajole the customer into getting daffodils instead when the man arrived at the counter carrying the entire bucket of red roses, muttering to himself about whether this would be enough or if it was too soon for roses. 

“Would you like for me to wrap these up for you?” he offered.

The man blinked at him slowly, as though Kieran had said something monumentally stupid. And even though he took the flowers and began wrapping them without further comment, he wondered if Bella would be more proud or annoyed if he told the man off and closed the store early. If she were here, she wouldn’t have suffered him this long. 

His customer had now begun to pace before the counter, his muttering more like the love poetry one would read if they had been poisoned and ran out of ipecac. “Nothing else can compare to the force of her beauty,” was one line closely followed by an utterly unintelligible list of adjectives and “those pensive eyes.”

“Excuse me?”

The man started and looked down his nose at Kieran. 

“You said she has pensive eyes?”

“Yes,” he sniffed. “Like amber.”

Had Kieran done more than enough stupid things for one lifetime? Yes. Was he going to add to it anyway? “If that’s the case, you don’t want roses. You want daisies.”

The man scowled. “I’m sure I want roses.”

“Daisies are better--”

“Roses,” he said finally, “not daisies.”

Kieran shrugged in acquiescence and continued wrapping until he went to reach for the tape and came up empty handed. Perfect. 

“One moment, sir. I’ve run out of tape.” He took the bouquet to the back of the store and plucked a daisy from the fridge, nestling it deep between the roses as he rewrapped and taped the parcel so that one couldn’t see it until it had been untied. 

He smiled at his handiwork before returning to the counter and selling the bouquet, and as the man walked out into the night, he murmured, “This could be another dead end, don’t get your hopes up.” But this time, like every time before, he said those words a little too late.


	3. Chapter Two: A Rose by Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two people die and Kieran uses his Customer Service (TM) voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it major character death if they get reborn? Asking for a friend. 
> 
> Shouldn't be anything more graphic than canon, but if you want to skip the violence, it's the dream sequence, which is in italics if you have creator skins turned on. I'll post a summary at the end so you don't miss anything relevant. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for your comments and support! ((And sorry to those of you who got a million notifications while I fixed the formatting in the previous chapters)) Enjoy!

“You said these were from how many people?” Will asked Lauren as the three of them gazed at the floral invaders. The plants-- in paper, in water and glass, in soil and clay-- had fully conquered the entrance to the Sinclair family home. The marble tile was completely obscured, and given enough time, Lauren could definitely see them growing roots through it, reaching ever higher to obscure any view of the frescos above. 

“Just one or two, I think,” she replied, faking nonchalance. She didn’t trust her mother not to have put another dating profile out there without at least a warning, either, so it could honestly have been any number. 

It was something she’d done before-- most infamously with the April Fool’s Day newspaper debacle, though she’d modernized since then. At least once a week, Lauren would have someone show up for dinner or be informed that she had a date that weekend. And as annoying as it was, she knew it kept them happy to have her busy. Busy means distracted. Distracted at least means she doesn’t have the time to close in on herself or to wallow, letting go of anything that didn’t connect her to that loneliness that they tried and failed to understand. 

That didn’t mean she liked this, especially when the hall looked like half a florist’s. 

Will and Lauren forged ahead to further inspect the horde, and Kym called after them,“Don’t mind me, I’m just calculating how many watermelons this probably cost.”

They shook their heads at her and went back to work. The potted plants could at least be put into the garden, but the bouquets were fated to wilt and die, which was much too depressing to consider. Maybe it was a romantic notion, but Lauren always thought flowers were meant to mean something, to be uprooted so as to be better appreciated. It should be special. Nothing screamed ‘not special’ quite like “So, Lauren,” Will said. “Does this mean the dates are going well? Have you been holding out on us, your closest friends?”

She answered Will with a glare and set to pulling the cards from the bouquets. “I really don’t know why they’d send me so many gifts, anyway.”

“I’m sure the Sinclair fortune has nothing to do with it.” 

Kym batted his arm as she caught up to them, loudly whispering, “Ix-nay on the ortune-fay, Willame.”

Laughing at her friends’ antics, Lauren tossed a bouquet of peonies at Will, who barely caught it before it hit him in the face. “Liar. You’re probably right, though. It’s not like it’s public knowledge that I’m giving it up. That won’t happen until I actually inherit.” 

“Why are you giving it away again?”

She paused. It wasn’t purely selflessness. While so many doors had been opened to her, there wasn’t even a whisper of what she really wanted, and she didn’t have the freedom to really search. She had to expectations to fulfill, conditions to qualify, a gilded cage to sit in and watch from. 

So she had to plan something else. Some other way of collecting clues and piecing them together, reaching into nothing and hoping for a hand. And then, when her parents brought up her trust, it all clicked.

No wonder he can’t find me, she’d thought when she concocted this plan, drafting the paperwork to file with the family’s lawyer. I’m not visible enough. Giving away that much money in one go should certainly do the trick. 

“Other people can put it to better use,” she said finally.

Will set a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “You’re going to help a lot of people.”

She may even be one of them. “Thanks, Will. Now can we take some of these to the shop, please? You can’t even walk through here!”

* * *

The door to the tiny apartment in Towersgate shut with a slam, echoing back into the tiny, dim hallway that he’d just trudged through. Kieran dropped his bag and coat gracelessly by the door, stomping to the other side of the studio and falling onto the bed. 

Trust Bella to be honest. 

“She has a point, though,” he said into the sheets. 

But this is _real._ It’s real in a way that the rest of his life can’t be. The truth is lodged in his blood and bones. It’s not something to compartmentalize the way she thinks it can. 

And he can’t even name it. Naming it would make it real and make it less real. More of something measurable, less of what it is. But maybe if he could explain it better--

He thinks of the daisy, of the seer’s warning, and grimaces. I’m a man of my word. I belong to her and she to me, even if I never know her name or see her face. Will that loyalty ruin me? 

Maybe. 

He wasn’t exactly wasting his life away the way she painted it. He wasn’t waiting for Her to let his life start. It’s just-- there was this gap there. Negative space where something should be. 

Kieran turned his head to the side for air, facing the corkboard that had been the center of their argument. He should at least try Bella’s way. The seer was already a last resort. He had no idea if the woman that idiot had been referring to could be Her. L, he reminded himself. L-something. 

If he believed Madame Alice at all. Or anyone who came before her.

She actually provided details without prompting, though, that’s better than before. New information, even if it can’t be verified yet. Something actionable, too, if he didn’t mind a little stalking--

“See, you’re obsessed.” Keiran pulled a hand over his eyes and down his face. “Try Bella’s way for now. Put it in a box out of the way, create something new. Just try.”

He grabbed a box and loaded everything into it as carefully as possible, trying not to touch anything or look at it for too long. There’s no time to be distracted. If he gets lost in it, he won’t finish the task.

The box goes beside his desk, hidden behind a wastepaper basket. The work on his easel is similarly set aside, and a freshly gessoed canvas goes in its place.

I belong to her. But she would want me to live. 

* * *

Will set the last box of flowers onto the counter, avoiding Grumpy Cat’s eyes for fear of being petrified. Literally. He faced the others instead, who were busy re-homing flowers into any extra dishes they could repurpose for the task. “For some reason, I really thought this would have been less of an ordeal.”

Kym nodded, falling into place beside him. “But it definitely brightens up the place! Who knows? Maybe Hermann will finally promote us.”

“Us?”

“You’re right,” She patted his arm consolingly. “You can be my assistant manager.”

“A little help guys?” Lauren gestured to the boxes that still hadn’t been emptied. They grumbled, and Kym could’ve sworn she heard Grumpy Cat actually hiss, but they got moving just the same.

Things were going smoothly until they were nearly finished.

“Oh.”

The others turned to Lauren, who was staring at a container filled with roses. “Are you okay? It didn’t still have thorns on it, did it?” Will asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You look--”

“It’s just surprising,” Lauren finally replied, plastering on a fake smile. “I’ve never seen a bouquet quite like this before.”

Kym came up to the table to see, leaning on Lauren’s shoulder. “What’s so different--? Oh.”

Just a standard dozen red roses… with one daisy. Lauren pulled it out from the middle and twirled it between her fingers. Could this really be what she hoped it was? Had waiting in place really worked? “I think I might keep this one.”

“And if this beau turns out to be another one of those ‘pretty pensive eyes’ people?” Kym snickered.

“You know,” Lauren smiled. “I get the feeling that won’t be a problem.”

* * *

Footsteps echoed only in the mouth of the cave tonight. Ahead of her, the sounds of splashing water drowned out anything that would announce Lauren’s entrance to the people inside. She slowed her steps anyway, peering past the wall of rock and into the main chamber. 

Her heart forgot to beat when she saw. Sake. 

How it happened, she’d never know exactly, but he had Kieran pinned, facedown in the water, his arms struggling for purchase on the slippery stone below him. 

Every second was too long. A shot rang, hitting Sake in the shoulder and throwing him off balance, and giving Lauren enough time to cross the distance and aim a kick for his head, which sent him sprawling in the shallow pool. 

He had the audacity to laugh. “What do you think the Force will do to you now that you have my blood on your hands again?” 

She answered him with another bullet. He was still smiling when he hit the water, face frozen in misplaced mirth. 

I don’t care, she thought. It’s over. 

There was a gasp beside her, and she turned to find Kieran still in the water, eyes trained on the ceiling and mouth wide, hair plastered to his face. 

“You don’t get to die on me, subordinate,” she said as she pulled him the rest of the way out of the water and prepped for first aid. “I won’t let you.” 

Lauren barely had time for a few breaths before he coughed the water out and into her face. She just wiped it away with her sleeve. 

“Lauren?” 

“Just… focus on breathing.” Lauren went to the daybed on the other side of the room and stripped the blanket, noting his coat thrown over a chair and grabbing it for good measure. “We’re going to get you out of here.” 

It was slow getting back to his apartment without being seen, but they made it still under the cover of night. Kieran was mostly quiet, only saying something if he needed to slow down or reorient himself. But he’d made a joke as she fumbled with his key in the lock and she knew he was starting to feel a little more himself. 

“Don’t worry,” Lauren said, pulling him through the hall. “I’ll let you have the bed tonight. You earned it.” 

His laugh was still weak. Maybe it would be a mistake to leave him alone to sleep. First things first. 

“Where’s your pajamas? I’ll grab them while you strip.” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled open a drawer of the wardrobe and started peering in. 

“At least buy me dinner first, officer!” 

She glared at him, but it had no bite. “It’s like you’re begging for hypothermia.” 

“Oh, you do care!” She glared at him, and he pointed to the drawer below the one she was searching. She pulled a clean set from the top and saw he was struggling with the buttons of his shirt. Her hands replaced his and started making quick, methodical work of it. 

His voice turned serious. “Lauren, stop.” 

“What now?” 

“You could’ve let me die tonight," Kieran whispered. "I know by now we each have enough intel and reach to finish this by ourselves…” 

“We’re in this together.” For the first time that night, he made eye contact with her, something electric behind it. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up. Did you get hurt anywhere else that I should check--?” 

“Tell me the whole truth.” 

“Kieran,” she said, her voice low and sharp. 

“Lauren.” 

“What are you expecting to hear?” She went back to finishing with the buttons but his hands grasped hers and pulled them away from his shirt again. 

“You killed someone for me. Me.” 

She huffed. “I owed you my life. Now we owe each other.” 

Kieran smiled.“Doesn’t that make us even?” 

“If that’s what you want it to mean, yes.” She couldn’t meet his eyes just then. He wanted to see what was in them, to force her to face him. That would mean letting go of her hands. 

It isn’t, he tries to say, but the sound catches in his throat. Whatever this is, it’s delicate, and even if he prides himself in having skillful hands, they feel clumsy where the two come in contact. In the silence, Lauren starts again at helping him change and he doesn’t stop her. 

But like always, echoes of other things bleed in. Her fingers are no longer playing at cloth, no longer smooth. The pads of her fingers have been flayed; they trace the edges of wounds too deep to matter for long. 

He is no longer trying to catch her gaze. His eyes are blank, his breaths again short, staccato things. One of them screams; it isn’t human anymore. Which of the poor little monsters is left alone? Which one howls, hoping it will reach one much too far to hear them? 

The rest of the night is sleepless. These nights always are. Lauren finds her eyes wide in terror, unseeing in the dark, mouth gaping as if she were the one that drowned. 

It was only a few short strides to her desk, a moment to remove the false back to the bottom drawer, a swift tug to dislodge the journal from its hiding place and into the moonlight. 

Flipping open the cover, she let her fingers press against the stems of the flowers that had long been dried between the pages. One of each. 

Lauren flipped to a clean page, documenting everything as clearly as she could remember, and-- almost as an afterthought-- took hold of the daisy and flattened it on the page where she had written, grabbing books from the shelf to weigh it. 

“If it’s you, then you found me.” She called out to the empty room. “I guess you want to be found, too.” 

* * *

Bella set the phone on the counter and turned to Kieran, who had been half-listening to her part of the conversation merely out of boredom. “Something about a man who bought a bunch of roses with one daisy? Ring any bells?”

Kieran tried and failed to school his face. 

She sneered. “Your romanticism disgusts me.” She pushed past him and headed back to the work room, which was her way of saying ‘you get to deal with it’. “I’m going to kiss a manchineel and hope for boils.”

He took the place she vacated and reached for the phone, straightening the way he usually did to answer company calls. “Davenport & Co., Kieran speaking.”

“Hi, I was calling because I received flowers that were from your shop, but the card is completely smudged--” 

Is it you? Kieran’s heart sang at the sound of her voice. If it’s you, it’s me. I’m right here. 

“--tell me who he is, but can I send a return gift?”

Wait what? “What-- Sure! What did you have in mind?”

Kieran heard a deep breath come across the line, almost like a sigh, and he could feel himself shake. Please. Let me be right. “Do you have any hyacinths?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream sequence recap: Lauren kills Tim Sake for trying to drown Kieran, then takes him back to his apartment to prevent hypothermia, where he basically gets her to admit she has feelings for him and then the dream shifts to sometime later, where one (or both!!) of our daring duo is dying from massive wounds to the abdomen. Lauren wakes up, writes it down in what has to be the world's worst dream journal, and announces to no one in particular that she's going to go get her mystery man.
> 
> Also, fun fact, the manchineel is a real plant! It's also called a poison guava and it's really deadly!! So cool!
> 
> Like always, please let me know what you think! If you have any theories on what happened in their past lives, I'm interested to know!


	4. The Banks of the Lethe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a slight Comedy of Errors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient! Extra thanks to those of you who gave kudos, commented, and subscribed-- this chapter would probably have taken a lot longer if not for you.
> 
> Please enjoy!

“Pickup for Sinclair.” The woman on the other side of the counter had short red hair, part of which was tucked behind an ear. She smiled up at him in a way that would normally make him nervous, but he was too distracted by his thoughts. Hearing her voice-- Her voice-- had stirred everything up. 

She called, and his mind echoed. 

“Sinclair? Oh.” He blinked at her, even as he felt himself blushing. “Right, the hyacinths. I’ll be right back.”

He pulled the flowers from the fridge. Kieran had placed them close to the back, but only because it was colder. It definitely wasn’t because he kept getting distracted by them as he filled orders. And he certainly wasn’t working today specifically to deliver them, either. Money was tight all over. That’s the only reason. 

She wasn’t exactly what he imagined, to be honest. Not in a bad way, just-- he expected someone who couldn’t be forced to shrink in on themselves the way the woman at the counter did. Her voice over the phone sounded sharp even as it sounded unsure, and now it was soft, breathy like a whisper. 

The flowers weighed heavy in his hands, his heart leaping to his throat as if to press his voice into silence. “She doesn’t even know it’s you. And this could all be a coincidence, anyway. Stop making it a big deal.”

He took a breath, let it go, and pushed the door to the back open.

“Does this sort of thing happen often for you?” she asked as he came back to the register. “Missed connections, I mean.”

Was this a game? Is this her way of goading him? “It’s definitely unusual, Miss--?”

“Lila. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lila. The seer said something about the letter L. Part of him still felt like it was trying to force a puzzle piece into the wrong space, though. “I’m Kieran. The pleasure’s mine.”

She wasn’t wrong, then. Why did it feel like she was wrong?

She crinkled the edge of the paper between her fingers and he wondered if she was as nervous as he was. “A daisy answered by hyacinths…. I didn’t think they had any romantic connotations. Do they?” 

“Maybe,” Kieran blushed, trying to focus on the register and not how intently she was looking at him. “Most people just get what they think looks nice.”

“That’s disappointing! I thought it would be like-- like a bartender, but plants. You know, advising people on the language of flowers.”

“ A hundred years ago, maybe. Daisies have a couple of main meanings, and like any fad they’ve changed a little bit over time. These, though, not so much.”

“Not good, huh?”

“Yeah. Beyond their own meaning, they’re associated with the old monarchy and with a serial killer that terrorized them for over a decade.”

“Wow!” Lila gasped. “Maybe I should pick up something else instead.”

“Don’t!” he said, too quickly, too desperately. Lila looked both confused and ready to bolt. Kieran cleared his throat, trying to put on a show of composure. “They’re still pretty, and almost no one looks into the meanings of them.”

Her brow wrinkled. “But you did. Surely someone else may have.”

“They’re just-- it’s just. It’s a long story.” He handed her the receipt that he’d accidentally wrinkled from gripping too tight. “Besides, they’re already yours.”

* * *

“You are going to wish you picked these up yourself, Lauren.” Lila said, setting the flowers in between them on the desk. The office was at full tilt, and of course the mayor had asked for her to move up her presentation on their newest project. Of all days. At least Lila was able to sneak away for a minute. 

Lauren didn’t even want to think about what would happen if she didn’t get those flowers. 

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you. They’re beautiful.”

Lila smirked. “See, if you’d gone, you’d be saying that about the florist.”

“That good, huh?”

“Tall, dark, and dreamy.” She sighed a little, as if already lovesick. “I can totally go back if you want something with a less depressing meaning, by the way. He mentioned something about it, so I looked them up. Ren, these are apology flowers.”

“I know, but that’s not why I got them. They need to be these, specifically. But I appreciate your concern.”

“Is there a secret code to these?”

Lauren looked away. “It’s… kind of a long story.”

“You know, that’s exactly what the florist said when I suggested getting you something else. You know, just in case you changed your mind. Was very insistent about it, actually.” Lila picked at one of her fingernails and eyed Lauren suspiciously. “Care to fill me in?”

“You aren’t willing to drop this, are you?”

“Not yet.” On the one hand, Lauren was really glad that she’d gotten Lila as a friend. She could be terribly wry, and they were the two most junior staff. They had to stick together. On the other, Lila looked at her like the cat who got the cream. The last time she’d had that look, she’d eviscerated a press release. The carnage of red ink was still vivid if she thought about it. 

“Lila, if this works out tonight, I’ll gladly tell you all about it. But I promise you one thing.”

“What?”

Lauren sighed. “You are not going to believe me.”

* * *

It wasn’t as common to see someone set up with an easel in the Heath as it had been in years past, and if Kieran hadn’t been so conscious of being seen at the moment, it wouldn’t have stopped him. Instead, he pulls his sketchbook from his bag and takes up a pencil, knowing from the smell that he’ll have grass stains on his jeans but not caring because his jobs have given him plenty of room to look disheveled. Or, as he prefers to call it, eccentric. 

The Heath wasn’t exactly his first choice, but the other spots were too close to ones that reminded him of Her. And, if only because the sky was a little greyer than usual, it was less packed. He could actually pick people out, maybe even study their features for longer than a second. 

He couldn’t afford models until he sold something new, anyway. It was nice that here the grass was just grass, the paths were just paths, the people were just people. 

If anything, this place reminded him of his mother, and when she’d take him to play while she sketched for her next piece. Sometimes, she’d even have him hold a pose and and he’d smile, even as the pose strained and he’d fall back, giggling and flailing to shake things loose again. That never failed to make her laugh.

“Mama, can I be a painter like you?”

Kieran closed his eyes, breathing slowly, focusing on the way the earth felt beneath the soles of his shoes, how the pencil felt in his hand. 

His mother lifted him into the cradle of her arms, swaying in a kind of dance.“Of course, Kieran. You’ll make a marvelous painter.”

They were in their allotment, back in Greychapel. Her cotton dress swayed in wind, muted stripes failing to hide the color she bled into the world. 

“Papa says if I’m good, then I’ll get to be like him.” She frowned at him, patting his cheek. 

That’s where it differed. In the dreams, his father was still alive. Remember the differences. Forget how real it is. 

“You can if you want. But don’t let him make the decision for you. Darling, we get to make our own mistakes. I loved someone I shouldn’t. He chose a narrow, dangerous path.” 

He heard her voice but he couldn’t see her anymore. He saw himself wiping a swath of fiery hair away from a shoulder in the morning sun, pressing kisses on whatever golden light laid bare. He saw the same figure, streaked with blood, unmoving. And he heard his mother’s voice.

“You deserve to be seen as you are, to be loved as you are. Don’t forget that.”

He pressed his fingers to her pulse. It’s strong, and it’s only that thought that lets him breathe. “I was afraid you left me behind, Darling,” he breathes into her hair.

Silence still.

And then another voice-- he knows it but not its name-- “Are you ready to answer questions now, you pitiful mutt? We can start with the other members of the Snapdragon--” 

There’s a kick to his gut, but it’s sloppy. It wouldn’t hurt except that everything hurts; he could have dodged if he could move. 

“Where are they hiding?” Kick.

“Kieran? Hey!”

Another kick.

“Ki, are you spacing out again?”

He shook his head. “Bells?”

“Bien sûr!” She made a sarcastic little show with her arms, then plopped onto the grass beside him. “It was like you weren’t even here just now.”

“It’s just--”

“I know what it was. You don’t have to explain it.” She pulled her knees to her chest. “I’m trying to tell you what I see-- what you can’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We all have flaws, right? Yours just happens to be some ‘curse from the Beyond’,” Bella trilled, her voice only somewhat mocking this time. “Besides, I came to apologize, actually.”

“You were right.”

“Maybe about parts of it,” she smiled wryly. “I do like to be right. But I was harsher than I meant to be. I know this is something that’s out of your control, and it’s not like I can really help. Sometimes, just watching it happen.... I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

They sat in silence for a while. This was just how they were-- quiet people who could be quiet together. “I took down the ‘crazy conspiracy board’, by the way. I’m... trying.”

She huffed a laugh at her term for it. “Is it helping anything?”

“Jury’s still out.”

Bella sat up straighter then, pulling at her hair until it was neatly back from her face, even if it wouldn’t be for long. “Well, while they’re busy, want to play that game again? I’ll make up stories and you sketch? Like old times?”

“Sounds good.”

* * *

The book was too pretentious, wasn’t it? Lauren fidgeted with the edge of the paper cover, hoping it wouldn’t cut her. Why had she even brought it with her other than to look more sophisticated? The subject was terrible for distracting her from the impending meeting, anyway, and of course she didn’t carry anything to stash it in. She never did carry a bag if she could help it.

There was just… always the feeling of being grabbed by it, of being weighed down with it. And no matter where she went, there was always a tiny feeling of being followed, watched, being more noticeable than everyone else. Her hair hadn’t helped matters any, and so when she was younger she’d kept it dyed brown. The only reason it was red again now was because she’d gotten better at hiding in other ways. She’d just keep it hidden when the urge arose. 

Lauren checked the clock on the wall of the café-- 15 minutes early still-- and tried again with the book, flipping to a new short story this time.

_I’m still falling for you, still caught between the frosty glass and your whispers on my skin-- even shrugging further into the wool of my coat won’t offer me relief-- and the time I’ve spent awake, listless above the rolling concrete has been equally restless._

It wasn’t difficult to imagine feeling the same way once. Her own feeling-- that which was hers alone-- was a duller ache. It was one of being lost in a sea of blank masks, of being adrift in it without a compass or a star. Or, more honestly, without a clue which star pointed north. 

Would he be like she remembered? Were these even memories, like she believed? 

Lauren tucked a finger between the pages and set her hand on the table, turning to gaze out the window at the people outside. They had their problems, their worries, she knew; but who else had hers? 

I’m meeting him. Today. Will he still…? She rips herself from her thoughts and back to the book. She just had to be a little more patient. 

_Finally, a little house breaks the waves of corn and wheat and soy like a rock jutting out from the sea. Even in the cold and dark, the light that spills from the windows--_

“Lauren?”

She jolted, nearly dropping the book as she turned to face the person behind her. “Brant?”

“Your one and only.” He slid into the chair next to hers, peering at the book cover. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, just re-reading _Something Quiet When the Sky is Dark_. Have you read it?”

His smile was tight.  “I haven’t had the pleasure.” 

“Not a fan of the genre?” Her eyes flick to the flowers she left in the middle of the table. The hyacinths. He hasn’t even spared them a glance. 

“Oh, I love reading. I just can’t ever find the time.”

“What do you prefer to do instead?” Lauren glanced at the hyacinths on the table between them, as if they would give her courage. 

“I’m always so busy helping with the family business.  You know….” She did. Brant’s family had a fortune of their own, unless you believed the rumors that most of it had dried up recently. 

“I guess that’s why it’s so surprising that you reached out like this. We’ve known each other a long time, Brant. Why only now? I’ve been here all this time.”

“I’ve loved you all this time, Lauren. It’s taken so long for you to see I’m right here.”

“Then why did you send me the daisy?”

At the mention of it, he sneered. “What daisy? I gave you roses.”

“There’s been a mistake. I’m sorry, but I need to go. Now.” She stood, grabbing the flowers and stepping back from him. He tried to stop her, but she brushed him off with little effort. 

The air outside the cafe was brisk for this time of year. Lauren checked her phone-- it was already 6. There was a good chance they’d already be closed. But it was only 10 blocks. If she ran… there was still a chance. 

Her feet pounded against the pavement. She was tired of half-measures and almosts and maybes. This was a lead. It was her best lead in the whole of her search so far. Like hell was she going to let it go. 

It’s time to see once and for all. 

The shop was mostly dark when she arrived, and the sign on the door said closed, but it was clear that someone was still inside. Should she wait for them to leave and speak to them then? Should she knock?

No, that would be rude. Should she come back tomorrow? She pressed up on her tiptoes to see over the window display, but all she could see was dark hair headed into the back room. That could be him,  she thought. 

The hyacinths were a little worse for wear given her sprint, but they were still acceptable looking. Still, she tried not to swing them as she paced. She wanted to be prepared. 

While she wasn’t looking, the main lights had come on, and the door clicked as it opened. “Can I help you?”

She jumped and pointed her floral sword at the man. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Having finally rounded the corner and come under the light of the streetlamp, she noticed just how familiar he looked-- same sharp jaw, piercing eyes, dark hair tied back. It took a moment to remember to breathe. 

He seemed to shake himself before he replied. “Hi, we’ve never met before, so what in Hell are you talking about?”

“The daisy. In the roses. You were the one sending me a message, weren’t you?” She refused to blink now, to miss something crucial. He still seemed shocked at having someone wave a bouquet at him like it was a weapon. Finally, he looked down at it and noticed exactly what it was she was holding. 

“Why do you have those?” he breathed.

“So you do know what they mean.” 

He only stared at her in response. 

“I thought… I don’t know.” This was too much and not at all how she expected this would go. Lauren reached up to wipe at her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry. I think I confused you for someone else. I’m so sorry.”

She had turned and made it a few paces when he’d found his voice. “You get the nightmares, too, don’t you. Or whatever they are.” It wasn’t a question. 

Lauren nodded. Then she realized that she wasn’t facing anything, turned, and answered. 

He pulled a hand through his hair, making one curl decide to stick upright. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Lauren.”


End file.
